Still Not Cured
by RainWillMakeTheFlowersGrow
Summary: Marius tosses and turns in a fevered sleep, convinced he's the only one who survived the barricade. Joly sets up a medical practice, wondering if he can ever let go. Cosette just wants to get her husband to a doctor. Previously titled "What may have Happened After the Barricade," but someone who can write titles and summaries got ahold of it.
1. Chapter 1

Soooo, while rereading la Brique, I realized that Victor Hugo (curse you for killing them all! *sob*) killed off all the Barricade Boys (ya know, with the exception of Marius)….EXCEPT JOLY. ALL THE OTHER DEATHS ARE DESCRIBED. AND ALL THE DEAD ARE MENTIONED. AND JOLY IS NOT AMONG THE DEAD. HE LIVED! THIS IS PROBABLY GOING TO HAVE MULTIPLE CHAPTERS ONCE I GET OFF MY BUTT AND START NOT BEING LAZY. SO, AS I AM LAZY, THIS WON'T BE QUICKLY UPDATED BECAUSE I AM NOT PREWRITING THE FIRST THIRD OF IT. I AM UPDATING AS I WRITE. SO BEWARE. PLEASE, PLEASE, COMMENTS, QUESTIONS, IDEAS, ANYTHING, IS APPRECIATED. AND I HOPE THIS LITTLE DISCOVERY MADE YOUR DAY THE WAY IT MADE MINE!

I yawned and sat up in bed, nearly forgetting the date. As soon as I remembered, my happy mood was spoiled. Of course. Today. The anniversary. June 6th, 1833. One year after the barricade. The sun streamed in the window, promising another warm, beautiful day like yesterday. I frowned. I didn't want it to be beautiful. It should be dark, dreary, cold, and most of all, unforgiving. Unforgiving. The word left me with a bad taste in my mouth, and as I went to the bathroom to inspect my tongue, I was struck with a memory of the people I had tried so hard to forget. Les Amis always used to make fun of me for being so afraid of illness sometimes, but they really hadn't understood how dangerous it really was. Like it mattered. In the end, it wasn't an illness that killed them all.

No! I tried to block the memories, but they always returned. Just outside of the Corinthe, a low wall of furniture, paving stones, and an omnibus. And about in particular, nine young men out of the thirty-odd people fighting for their future. I gave in and sighed. Jean Prouvaire, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Bahorel, Marius Pontmercy, Feuilly, Grantaire, Bossuet, Enjolras. All of them- gone. Never again hear Courfeyrac lament about his newest grisette and how he misspelled her name, nor Prouvaire recite verse; never hear Pontmercy talk with wonder about Napoleon, nor Feuilly about Poland. Bahorel would never fight again, Combeferre would never read another book. Grantaire wouldn't become drunk and raving, and Enjolras would never talk again about the future they were going to create. And Bossuet…my best friend. He would have no bad luck, not where he was now.

I dressed in black and went downstairs, under my flat, to the place I called my office. I had finished medical school two months ago, and now was a practicing doctor. There was a sign outside my window, and as I went to flip it to ouvert, open, I paused. No. Let it stay closed.

I let it be and sat in a chair. I didn't know what to do. Suddenly, there was urgent knocking on the door. Walking over, I wondered who it could be. As I pulled the door open, a young blonde woman fell, breathless, over the threshold. She was quite pretty, but her face was tear-streaked and distraught.

I gestured for her sit, but she shook her head and, gasping, cried, "non! Monsieur, it's my husband… I don't know what's wrong with him! He is feverish, and raving mad!" At this she burst into fresh tears.

"Please, Monsieur, I know you aren't open, but…"

I nodded. She thanked me again and again, and rushed out the door. I followed her to the fiacre, which rumbled along until we got to a grand-looking house with the gate wide open. She urged me along, into the house. There I followed her up a large, wide staircase and into a bedroom. There was a figure lying prone on the bed and she rushed to its side.

"I've brought a doctor, oh, Marius! Please! You must get well!"

I stared in shock at the man lying on the bed. Marius Pontmercy. I didn't believe it. It must be another Marius, another man, different from the one who had saved us all on the barricade, only to die, a year ago.

I stepped closer, hardly daring to believe it. It was Marius. The same. He was shaking, and feverish, muttering under his breath the names that had haunted my nightmares.

"No! ...Eponine, no…Gavroche…stop! No! No! Stop! No!" Tears were rolling down his flushed face, and he moaned softly. I knelt by the head of the bed and shook his shoulder slightly. "Marius..." I said.

He awoke, saw me, and said hoarsely, "go away! You're all dead! Stop! Go away, Joly!"

The blonde, who I realized must have been Cosette, her eyes still swimming with tears, said, "he does that to everyone. He doesn't know who he is seeing. It was a year ago today, you know. When he…" her voice lowered almost conspiratorially, "went to the barricades."

I looked at her. "I know," I whispered, "I was there, too. I didn't know of anyone else surviving."

Cosette looked at me, shocked. I didn't wait for a reply but instead turned to Marius. "Can you bring me some cloth? And some water."

Cosette did so. While she was gone, Marius woke up again. He looked at me. "No! you aren't alive! Am I alive? I should be dead! No!"

I looked at him. "I am alive, Marius. Really. I don't think anyone else is, but I am."

He just frowned.

Cosette came back with the water and cloth. I told her to keep his face fool, so that the fever would break.

"Ah! Merci beaucoup, monsieur! Merci, merci!"

I nodded. As I did so, Marius again turned towards me, saying hoarsely, "do you ever feel like you shouldn't be alive, Joly? Do you? Because that's how I feel. We should have died a year ago."

I turned and nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry this is short- I just wanted to post as much as i could.

Marius lapsed back into his feverish sleep, occasionally muttering names. I recognized them, every name. _Enjolras. Bahorel. Courfeyrac. _And on. And on. Cosette looked on worriedly. There really wasn't much anyone could do, though. Just make sure he was warm and wait for the fever to break. Other than that, nothing.

I walked back to my flat, contemplating the coincidence. On the anniversary of the barricade, that I should meet the only other survivor. I knew I was the only other one. After all, it hadn't been easy for me to escape, and they had a list. Of names. Of people that were dead. I shuddered, and the warm June air seemed cold, like it should have been, for a few seconds.

As I turned a corner, it struck me that I was not going the right way. I should have turned the opposite direction. Instead, I was walking on a much more familiar route, one I had taken almost every day after medical school. Of course, that had all stopped a year ago.

The café was still there, though. I wondered if people had taken down the map of Paris under the Republic, if there were still bottles stacked up under that table which Grantaire had claimed as his own. _Stop that!_ I commanded myself. Dwelling on the past wouldn't change it. It would just make it harder to move on.

Even so, I continued up to the Café Musain. I entered and sat down at a table. I even had a glass of water. But then I left; the place was to reminiscent to ever have the warm, cheery atmosphere for me again.

This time I really did go to my flat.

XXX

Marius' POV

I saw them everywhere. All of them, all the time. Why? I supposed it was just delusions. I knew I was sick. But the day, of all the days to be sick, was not today. Why on this day? When I saw them, not only during nightmares, but as ghosts, everywhere I turned?

I was hot, then cold. Sweating so hard, the silk sheets were drenched. I called to them. Called for them to come back. Why couldn't they come back? All of them! Come back!

Enjolras…the leader. We hadn't always agreed. I saw him enter my room. Hazy, I reached out and hoarsely called. The face transformed into that of my wife. I was almost upset. Why? What was wrong with me? All of them! They were everywhere!

"Marius…I'm going for the doctor," the…person…said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Bonjour, people! This is Psycho here...you may or may not be aware that Mars and I share this account. Anyhoo, she has been BANNED from fanfiction because of reasons, and I am posting for her, so...yeah. Away we go!**

_Cosette's pov_

The moment I woke up, I knew something was wrong. Marius hadn't felt good the night before, but now he was shivering, feverish, and very sick. I got out of bed and dressed.

As I leaned over him, his eyelids fluttered and he moaned, "Enjolras…"

I frowned. This wasn't like him at all.

"Marius…? I'm going to the doctor," I said fearfully. Tears were running down his face, which was hot to the touch, and he kept saying the names of the people who I know died at the barricades. I didn't know what to do. Cholera? It was about the only bad sickness I knew, and it was all over Paris. Lamarque's death of it, a little over a year ago, had stirred them into revolting. Could the irony be that my Marius died from it as well?

I flagged a fiacre and told the driver to go, as fast as he could, to the nearest doctor.

He said in a deep voice, "the nearest one is that way," and he pointed, "but there is a much better one, just out of medical school, over there."

I asked him to go to the better one. I didn't really know my way around this part of Paris, all I wanted was someone who could fix Marius.

We arrived. The door sign said fermer, closed. No. Not today! I went to the door and banged on it as hard as I could, nearly hysterical. A tall young man with straight black hair opened the door and, crying, I nearly fell across the threshold.

He wanted me to sit. Shaking my head, I cried, "non, Monsieur! It's my husband! He's feverish, and raving mad!" I started crying again.

"Please…I know you aren't open, but…"

When the man nodded, I thanked him again and again.

"Merci! Oh, merci beaucoup, Monsieur! You don't know how important this is!"

He followed me to the fiacre, and we drove back to M. Gillenormand's. As we went, I asked his name.

"François Joly," he said. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I didn't know why.

We entered, and I rushed the man to our room. Marius was prone on the bed, muttering names.

"I've brought a doctor, Marius! You must get well!"

"No…Éponine…Gavroche…No, no! Stop! No!"

Suddenly he sat up and saw the doctor. His face went white and he said, "go away! You're all dead! Stop! Go away, Joly!"

"He does that to everyone. He doesn't know who he is seeing. It was a year ago today, you know. When he…" I couldn't say it. I had to though. My voice lowered and I continued, "went to the barricades."

The man looked at me. Quietly, he said, "I know. I was there, too."

**OMG! I...don't know why we needed to see that section of the story from a different POV, but it was good! So, review! It would make us so happy!**


	4. Chapter 4

Bonjour Readers! Ugh, i haven't updated this in a long time. But, my finals are almost over, so you can expect regular updates after Friday!

-Marseillaise! (who is sick with a lung infection. XD Joly would be frightened, non?)

And i apoplogise profusely for the chapter shortness. Really. But this story is HARD. TO. WRITE. yah.

* * *

Joly's pov

I sat down at the table and thought. The same day, only a year later, that the barricades had fallen, I chance to discover the only other survivor. How could he have survived? I had, barely, and reminiscing on the event, did not see how another could have done it.

I had been at the center of the barricade for about two hours, sustaining the grape-shot and keeping guns loaded for Bahorel, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, who were on the outsides. As the National Guard had advanced upon the barricade, we were finally run over. The cannons had done their job, blowing a huge hole in the center. I had dived behind the wreckage, only to be trapped by a falling table. The last thing I saw was Courfeyrac, who was bravely fighting, being stabbed thrice in the chest by bayonets. He fell, it was bloody, and I wanted to be sick, cry, and yell at the same time. I did none of those things, however. Instead, I slithered further into the hollow caused by the wrecked barricade.

The little hollow had several holes from which air could get in, and as I felt around, I was amazed by the accidental but extremely fortunate "tunnel" that had formed by Bahorel's ripping up of the paving stones. It led to the other side of the barricade. Gavroche, I realized, must have used it to crawl to the other side so that he could retrieve the ammunition from the dead soldiers. It was a small fit for a child, and nearly impossible for me. I waited out the night, and when they went to clear up and look for survivors, I crawled back and hid. A further few hours, when I saw no one save the dead, I dared to crawl out.

The smoke had cleared, but the sharp, almost rusty smell of blood remained. I rushed into a shop nearby and was immediately sick. From there, I stumbled somehow to the place I was living. I stayed in my flat, barely sleeping and not eating for days. I tried to find Musichetta, but awaiting me was another sad story.

She had been told that both Bossuet and I were dead. Unable to live in Paris happily anymore, she had moved to London, where her deceased mother's sister and her husband allegedly lived. I had no way of leaving France, not without revealing my identity and ultimately being shot by the firing squad. No way of contact. No way of letting her know I was alive. And no way of returning to my old life.

The only thing halfway normal was medical school. I continued, and passed with honors. I had moved to a new, slightly bigger flat, and set up medical practice below. My life passed in greyscale, all the vibrancy gone.

And that left me here. Wondering how on earth another one of Les Amis de l'Abiassé had survived. But would he survive? I hadn't done anything drastic yet, but bloodletting was the most common remedy of fever, and his was pretty high. I had no idea if he would survive, and if he didn't? It would be 1832 all over again. But this time, what did I have to lose?


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, I woke up and immediately went over to go check on Marius, fearing that the fever was worse. Grabbing my medical bag, spectacles, and dressing quickly, I hurried along and signaled for a fiacre, who I directed to the Pontmercy house. The ride seemed to take forever, what with my anxiety, but we got there. I knocked on the door, and it was immediately opened by Cosette. She seemed very glad to see me, and I stepped over the threshold. The house was large, and quiet, and Cosette hurriedly told me everything she knew.

"He's getting worse, I think! All he ever does is moan and think he sees his friends! He says he's so cold, but he's burning up. I tried to convince him to eat something, but nothing was accomplished. What should I do?!" She looked up at me imploringly, and I looked down almost guiltily. If he had Cholera, then there was really nothing I could do. At the hospital, there were new victims of the fever daily, but of course Marius could not go to the hospital, not with his mumbling about the barricade. And really, the hospital couldn't do much. Almost all the patients died. It was just a matter of time for them. I really hoped that my friend, the only other member of Les Amis de l'Abaisse left, had something simple, a midsummer ailment.

I frowned. While being concerned for Marius, I felt a pang of jealousy towards him. He had a beautiful wife, whereas I had…no one. I couldn't fall in love again, not while Musichetta still lived, regardless weather or not she knew of my existence. It was horrible, but I had to feel happy for Marius, because he deserved his wife, Cosette. She was not happy now, though. Her eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles under them, suggesting that she had not slept well. Her hair was messy, a tangled mass of blond that tumbled down her back.

She looked nothing like 'Chetta, but had the same sweet temperament. But no, I couldn't get distracted by self-pity, not while Marius' life could be on the line. I hurried up the grand mahogany staircase, my shoes squeaking a little. I almost slipped at the top, and thought with a smile that had it been Bossuet, I surely would have fallen and hurt myself.

Just as soon as the smile came, it disappeared. No. It was too soon, too fresh. I had no friends, not really, but it didn't do good to mourn, not now. Now was the time to make sure Marius was okay.

His room was to the immediate left. It had pale green wallpaper, and the white curtains were blowing slightly in the breeze from the open window. To the right of the window was a queen-sized bed, with a chair and a small table next to it. On the table was a basin of water, some cloths, and a large amount of soup.

Marius himself was twisted in the sheets, his sweaty head buried in a mound of pillows. I frowned, he should not be in so much heat. Quickly, I sat on the chair and used the back of my hand to feel his forehead. Confirming my suspicion was the thermometer, which read 40 degrees Celsius. (104 degrees F).

"He needs to be cooled down, Cosette, and I am thinking that if this doesn't go down, I may have to do some bloodletting. I don't like it, but that's pretty much all we can do for a fever."

Cosette nodded and left the room. While I pulled back a struggling Marius' sheets, he looked straight at me with eyes shining from the fever.

"No! Dead, dead, dead, you and me both, we shouldn't be alive, we should have died, died with the rest, you know? Do you know, Joly? Dead dead dead. Dead with Enjolras, dead with Feuilly, dead with Bossuet-"

"Stop!" I choked back a sob. Could he really make me this upset this easily? But I didn't need reminding of that fact. I knew it, I knew I should be dead. I should be dead along with everyone I care about. But, I can't die, because I know that Musichetta is out there, and I just want to go see her again. Another impossible dream, another dead ideal.

"Marius," I said quietly, "you have to get well. Otherwise, I'll be the only one left."

He just stared at me, struggling to pull the covers back, proclaiming that he was cold, as cold as death. He wasn't cold. He was feverishly hot, and would die if it didn't stop going up.

Cosette returned just then with a huge basin. She and a maid had filled it up with cold water, and Cosette took several towels and dunked them in. Helping me remove Marius from his cocoon, she toweled off his body, kissing his forehead tenderly. I looked away. It was too painful. But no, I had to keep caring for Marius, because he had to get better. Putting my own feelings aside, I assisted Cosette in bathing the fever-ridden man, and putting him back in a bed with clean sheets. The worst was yet to come, I was afraid.

questions, comments, constructive critisisms are all appreciated!

xx-Marseillaise


	6. Chapter 6

Joly's pov (still)

Marius slept fitfully, waking up suddenly, but never more than a few minutes. He tossed and turned, with Cosette and me trying hard to make sure that he didn't overheat. Still, as the hours dragged on, I knew in my gut that the fever was just going up. When it reached 41 degrees Celsius, or 106 F, I knew we had to do something drastic.

"Cosette," I said, "I think I am going to have to draw blood. That's…pretty much all we can do at the moment. Can you get me strips of clean cloth, please?"

She nodded, scared, and I walked heavily over to Marius. He was shivering, sweating, and muttering indistinctly. I bit my lip and sat down on the stool next to his bed.

I took a deep breath. "Marius?" I asked.

His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at me vacantly. The fever made his eyes shine, and his forehead was pale and beaded in sweat.

"Marius, you have to hold still. I am going to take blood to make the fever go down."

He nodded.

Cosette held his hand and I his arm. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the simple knifelike instrument. I swallowed. I didn't like doing this, even though it was practically the only option. I carefully traced a thin line with the tip of the instrument, drawing beads of red. Hands steady, I held his arm tightly and plunged it in.

Blood gushed out. It was normal; nothing had gone wrong. The red liquid fell into the waiting basin, running down his arm and creating a river of blood. Marius grew even paler, and a sound of pain escaped him. I nodded sympathetically, but kept my eyes focused on the arm. After a pint or so, enough to fill half the basin, I removed the instrument, wrapping the cloths around the wound tightly.

Cosette looked at me, questions brimming in her eyes. I turned to her and said quietly, "If the fever doesn't go down, there's nothing I can do. I don't think he has cholera. If it does go down, we need to keep it down. Keep feeding him; he needs his strength to fight this."

She nodded, and I stood up. Looking her in the eyes, I said, "I'm coming back tomorrow to make sure he's okay. I-I just…" I trailed off, sitting back down and putting my head in my hands. After a slight pause, I felt a light hand on my shoulder, and looked up to see Cosette standing there.

"Really," she whispered, "I don't know, but I think I can understand. Marius…he hasn't been the same since the barricades either, and he has…well, he has me. But that's it, really. I can't imagine how it must be, and when he gets better, you must come see us."

I felt my insides clench. Marius had Cosette, of course he did. But she couldn't understand, no matter how much she could try. I had _loved_ Musichetta, I still did. And I knew that my going to her would put her in danger, could she understand that? I wondered if Musichetta still loved me. Still loved Bossuet. Well, Bossuet was dead and I was as good as dead to her, so that's just too bad. Looking up, I tried hard to be happy for Marius, because the hell we had gone through at the barricades left at least one of us deserving a happy ending. I just hoped he got better, because I didn't think I could lose anyone again. Because if I was shattered again, I just might not be able to put myself back together.

And that, curiously, was why I loved being a doctor. I spent my time helping people, bringing health, and people liked that. I _wanted_ to help people, wanted to help everyone. Well, that's what we wanted at the barricades, too, but that never got anywhere. No; if I was going to help people, I might as well, because I hadn't lived through that just to go on and watch on the sidelines again. So Marius had to live, and if Cosette could have him and he could have Cosette… It was good. It was good, and there was no use being jealous.

"Joly…?"

I glanced up, realizing that I had lost myself in my thoughts. "Sorry. I'll see you if-_when _he gets better. Yes. I will."

She had not missed my slip up. Her eyes widened and she whispered, "_if_? Joly, he _has_ to get better."

"I know. I need him too…"

She nodded, and I stood up and left. Walking down the grand staircase, I felt small.

As I called a fiacre to take me home, it started to rain. The water cascaded down the windows, and I felt the smallest pang of satisfaction, because it didn't seem good to be sunny any time in June anymore. The sun just reminded me of the barricades, but everything could do that. Back in my flat, I turned the sign to open, hoping that work of some sort could help me think.


	7. Chapter 7

**Well, after struggling with this story for like a month, I finally found a way to introduce the plotline! (the second plotline, other than getting Marius better...) So expect more regular updates! Yay! And I promise neither of us is dead, just we're both on vacation and have limited wifi. Sorry about that. But Psycho is coming back...in three days, I think...And i will try to be on sooner than that. I have the next Dear Fanfiction Writers *almost* completed! But i am TANGENTING. (Victor Hugo does it; it can't be THAT bad) On to the story!**

Cosette's pov

As Joly left, I sat back down next to Marius' bedside. _If._ The word had a bitter tang in my mouth, and I wondered if the doctor had really slipped up, or if he meant it. If, if, if. There were too many if's. I wanted yesses and no's, not if's.

I patted down Marius' forehead with cold, wet cloth every ten minutes or so. I didn't know what to do- I just couldn't bear leaving him.

I thought about what Joly had said, how he needed Marius to get better. I didn't know what he was going through, and couldn't imagine it, but it seemed to me as though he was lonely. I knew he had had a mistress- Musichetta? That was her name. I had met her once, accidentally, and a conversation had started. That was barely a week after the barricades, and she had been about to move to England. I had been worried that Marius wouldn't make it, and she had told me about Joly and Bossuet. And even though I didn't really understand how that worked, I felt so horrible, I guess realizing for the first time just how lucky I was that Marius had survived, somehow. I hadn't known, of course, that it was my own Papa who had done the saving. Thirty-three, that had been the body count. All of them had had families, friends, perhaps wives or even children. Musichetta wasn't the only one who felt this way, but that didn't make it any worse. She didn't know, I realized, that Joly was still alive. Did he know that she was? I didn't know. I thought about it. Perhaps…

I kissed Marius' face, telling him that I would be right back. Hurrying down the staircase, I practically flew out the door and called a fiacre. Breathless, I reached Papa's house. If anyone could do it, Papa could.

"Papa!" I cried, once I reached the house. He was in the smaller of the two main rooms, sitting on a sofa and reading a book. He looked up at me and smiled. Ever since Marius and I had arrived just in time to prevent his death, he had lived with Toussaint, alone but with frequent visits from Marius and me.

"Yes, _ma chérie_?" he asked.

I sat down next to him on the sofa. "Papa…Marius is sick, you know."

He frowned. "Yes," he said, "has something gone wrong?"

"No, I don't think so. It's actually…the doctor."

Papa looked concerned. "Do you need another doctor? Is something wrong with the doctor?"

"No! No, the doctor. He…he was at the barricades. I don't know how he survived. But Marius recognizes him, he was there."

Papa's eyebrows shot up, and he said, "that's…that's great! I thought they had all died…but no; that's good. It's good for Marius, the boy has been so depressed because of this whole ordeal. It's horrible, it was just…a massacre." His eyes looked tired, and I figured he was remembering his time at the barricades. I nodded slowly, but I wasn't done.

"Papa…there was a girl…the doctor, I mean. His name is François Joly. This girl, her name is Musichetta, I think, anyway, she thinks he's dead, and she moved to England. I know it's not much to go on, but I just…it would be so wonderful if we could find her for him."

My father, for I couldn't think of him as anything else, smiled warmly. "You are such a caring, kindhearted young woman, Cosette. I think that that's wonderful idea. I don't know much of England, but I do have business connections in London from when I was mayor of Montrieul-sur-mer. I will do what I can."

I hugged him. My father was the most passionate, caring person ever, and I knew that if this girl could be found, she would. Joly would be so happy.

I rode back to the Gillenormand house, my heart feeling full. Now, if Marius would only get better, then this whole thing would be perfect.


	8. Chapter 8

**Erg! I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long and this is such a short chapter! And it's mostly fluff! Sorry! Anyway, I hope you like it! And on a different note, I will try and update this before Sunday, but on Sunday I am leaving for camp for a week and will not have cell phone service, wifi, or anything like that, so all my stories will be on hiatus for a week. So yeah. If I don't get the chance to update this Saturday or Friday, expect an update after the 30th. Thanks! And...enjoy! Beware a bomb drop cliffhanger, sorry!**

**-Marseillaise**

Joly's pov

I awoke to an urgent knocking on my door. This wasn't terribly unusual, as emergencies happened any time of day or night. I didn't like it, per say, but I wasn't about to complain. Throwing on my clothes in the dark, I almost tripped going down the stairs. Recovering, I hurried to the door and threw it open.

There stood Cosette. She looked ecstatic. Quickly, in one long, rambling, breathless speech, she cried, "I have the most wonderful news! Oh, Joly- his fever's broken! I stayed up, you know, because I didn't want to leave him, and he was getting worse, and it was horrible, and I must have dozed off, it was so warm in the room, and I woke up just now, and it's broken! He's just sleeping, now, but his forehead isn't so hot anymore!"

I stared at her in shock. It wasn't that I was _unhappy_ that Marius' fever had broken, quite the opposite, but it was surprising. Of course I wouldn't tell Cosette…but I had had very few hopes of his making it. Grinning, I lit a lamp and invited her inside.

She shook her head. "I'm not going to force you, but if you want to talk about it, you're going to have to come to my house. I'm not leaving him any longer. And," she smiled again, her face radiating happiness, "I have something to tell you. But I can't do it all at once. Come now, or you can come in the morning."

I glanced at the sturdy little clock on the counter. 4:37. "I would have been up soon enough, anyway. I'll come with you."

Delighted, she nodded, and then added bemusedly, "but first, you might want to consider not wearing brown pants and an orange waistcoat."

"That's what happens when you dress in the dark. Give me a minute, I'll be right down," I said as I realized my mistake. Walking up the stairs, exchanging my orange waistcoat for a dark green one, and dashing back down took around five minutes, and Cosette was positively jumping. _What can it be that she's so anxious to tell me_? I wondered.

We rode back to her house, the sun starting to peek out. The rain had stopped sometime in the night, and the clouds were moving away. The air promised a hot, muggy day.

When we reached the Gillenormand estate, Cosette practically dragged me out of the fiacre, paying hastily and rushing to get there.

We hurried up to their room. Marius was still pale and running a slight fever, but nothing compared to before, only 37 degrees Celsius. (99 degrees Farenheight). Relief washed over me; I suppose it really hadn't seemed possible. But now, seeing it with my own eyes, I was convinced. He was getting better.

It was crazy. But I was so thankful, so happy, because I really couldn't have coped with this- to find someone like that and then lose them.

Cosette was beaming as she lightly kissed Marius' head. Looking up, she grew serious.

"Joly…I need to talk to you."

"I'm listening," I said, albeit confusedly.

"It's about Musichetta."

**How's that for a bomb drop? Cliffhanger, sorry about that! You know I love them :)**

**Thoughts?**

**Questions?**

**Hopes for this story?**

**Don't worry, it won't all be fluff. I have an idea that will spin your minds. But I'm not telling haha. :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm still here with this fic! To all of you- Thank you so much for sticking with me, because this has been super hard. I really want to make it realistic.**

**And to Anna Clare, an answer to your question in another review...If you make sure to say that it's my work, then that will probably be okay.**

Joly's pov (still)

Of all the things she could have wanted to talk about, that was the least expected. Musichetta…

"Why?" I managed.

She bit her lip a little. "Well…Papa used to be mayor of Montreuil-sur-mer. And he made a rather large fortune selling jet around the world. Including England. I-I met her once, Musichetta, I mean, just after…you know. And she said she was moving to London, where she believed her aunt to live. Well… after I learned that you were alive, I asked Papa to see what he could do, because he still has contacts over there."

No. There was no way. Impossible. Musichetta…Of all the people I had missed, I had missed her the most. To be reunited…It was quite literally a dream come true. But no, I remembered, I couldn't leave Paris without presenting papers, and that would be…bad. Really, it was a wonder that my medical professor had let me continue, but he was completely neutral and against bloodshed of any kind, so he had not turned me in.

"So…"

Cosette swallowed. "She's there. And…" she looked at me seriously. "Swear that you don't mention this to anyone."

Confused, I nodded.

"Papa…he has false IDs. He can get you into London. In one week, that's the only time."

_Was_ it possible? "You're…sure?"

She nodded seriously. "You might not be able to come back. But Papa can get you in."

Was it worth it? To give up everything, no matter how small, I had established, to be with her? A week ago, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But now, here was Marius, and Cosette. They had made it. And…Seeing Marius, it was like a lifeline. I barely spoke any English, though Musichetta had laughingly tried to teach me a little.

To go or not to go? And never to return…

"I…" I didn't know what to say. But I could be a doctor in London, too. And the Pontmercys could visit, right? English could be learnt, and this whole episode would fade away, like a bad dream. Well, no. I would never forget them. But I could truly start afresh. And leave everything behind.

"I'll go." It was now or never, after all.

XXX *one week later*

Still Joly's pov

Paris. Paris, with all its problems, and beauty. Paris, the only city I'd ever known.

Grabbing the two bags I took, I looked around for the last time. I was now Edward, with the English spelling, Edward Beige. I had been born in England, but my parents had moved to France. They had died of cholera and I was taken in by Cosette's father. He didn't know any English, and I had forgotten it and learnt French instead. That was my story now. Edward Beige. Nevermore François Joly.

I stepped into the fiacre.


	10. Chapter 10

**Bear with me on this one. I don't know much about emigration customs of nineteenth century France. **

**The italicized parts are those in English, because this is supposed to be in French. When I did use French, I included the translations in parenthesis.**

**I just realized that I have five different stories I'm trying to do at the same time, so please bear with me on the slow updates.**

**And, I just want to thank Phoenixflames12, because she has supported this fic all along, and when I get frustrated with this story it really helps to know I have such a dedicated reader who really thinks it's good! **

**Of course, that said, I appreciate every single one of you. Thanks for sticking with me!**

**Okay, enough sappiness, there's enough of that next chapter.**

**-Marseillaise**

Cosette's pov

I really, really hoped we were doing the right thing.

The fiacre rumbled along, and about an hour went by without either of us speaking. Finally, Joly spoke up, to Marius.

"You will…visit?" he asked.

Marius nodded. "Often."

Joly smiled. "I'll send you letters."

As we neared the customs station where all persons leaving France had to go through, Joly became visibly nervous. Turning to Papa, he said, "are you sure this is foolproof?"

Papa nodded. "Without a doubt. Don't worry."

The man at the gates asked for papers, and Papa handed them over. Baron and Baroness Marius Pontmercy, Paris, France. Ultime Fauchelevent, father of Baroness Cosette Pontmercy. Paris, France. Edward Beige, adopted son of Ultime Fauchelevent, emigrating to London, England, from Paris, France…et cetera.

He looked them over, and said, "these appear to be in order. Mister Beige?" –Joly nodded- "You can take your things and go to that ship. About an hour and you will be in England. From there, give them this paper-" he handed Joly a paper- "- and they will show you where to go."

Joly nodded, and then turned to us. "Goodbye then. Thanks…Papa…for everything."

I waved. "Au revoir…"it was so strange, calling him by an English name, "Edward."

We turned away, getting back into the fiacre.

XXX  
Joly's pov

The ship wasn't enormous, but it wasn't small either. I boarded and sat down on a bench. A young girl, perhaps seventeen, sat down next to me.

"_Where are you from_?" she asked in English.

I swallowed. "_Paris_. _I am of Paris."_

My accent must have given me away, and she smiled. - Ah, français. C'est bon, je parle français aussi. Vous… émigrent ? - (Oh, French. That's good, I speak French as well. You are…emigrating ?)

I nodded. - J'émigre au London. Et toi ? (I'm emigrating to London. And you?)

She smiled. - Non, juste…visite mes sœurs avec mes parents et mon petit frère. (No, just…visiting my sisters with my parents and my younger brother.)

Just then, a young boy, perhaps ten, came rushing up. I assumed he was her little brother.

-Bonjour ! he chirped.

- Comment tu t'appelles ? I asked. (what is your name ?)

He frowned, concentrating. – Je m'appelle Oliver, he said at last. (I'm Oliver)

-Enchanté ! Je m'appelle…Edward. (Nice to meet you! I'm…Edward)

His sister ruffled his hair, much to his annoyance. –Oliver ne parle pas français très bien, j'ai peur ! (Oliver doesn't speak French well, I'm afraid !)

-Ah.

She said something in English to Oliver, who turned to me and said, -au revoir, Edward! (goodbye, Edward!)

They left, leaving me on the deck. I frowned. Learning English would be the biggest hurdle by far, and it would certainly take effort. All I could do currently was say my name, where I was from, and maybe enough to order wine at a restaurant.

The boat left shore and, after a relatively short and harrowing boat ride where I nearly got seasick, we arrived in England. This was it. I had never previously been outside France, and it was a little unsettling.

The man at customs was nice, and he knew enough French for me to easily communicate with him. He gave me new papers, and told me to go to an omnibus, which I did.

The ride to London took several hours, and by the time I got there I was exhausted. I pulled out the paper with Musichetta's address, and flagged down what the London equivalent of fiacre was. Showing him the address, he nodded and we set off.

Everything seemed to have sped past me, and yet I was dead on my feet by the time we got to the row house the driver said was the address. I paid him with the little English money I had received at customs, but I must have overpaid him, for he looked with wide eyes at the money and sped off.

After everything, I was finally here. I knocked on the door.

A young woman answered who looked similar to Musichetta, presumably her sister. She looked at me curiously.

I swallowed. "Um. I am…" what name to use? My papers said Edward Beige, and that was the name I was going by, but Musichetta would know me by my real name. She looked impatiently.

-Parlez-vous le francais ? I said at last. (do you speak French?)

-Juste un peu. (Just a little)

-Est «Musichetta» ici?

She nodded and shut the door slightly. "_'Chetta! Someone to see you! A Frenchman, it would seem_."

I couldn't understand what she was saying, but all of a sudden, she was there, in the doorframe. Upon seeing me, her face went white, as if she was afraid, and tears leaked out of her perfect eyes.

"Is it really you?"

I nodded, and she flew into my arms. I held her tightly, never wanting to let go. She buried her face in my shoulder, sobbing and laughing at the same time.

"I missed you, François," she whispered.

"Me, too," I murmured.

And I knew, right then, it was the right thing to do. Because for the first time since that awful day one year ago, I felt as if my heart was healing. As if the gash left in it had been replaced by a scar, one that would never leave, but no longer constantly plagued me.

"Je t'adore, 'Chetta," I whispered. (I adore you)


	11. Chapter 11

**And, for adorableness! I sincerely apologize that I haven't been on lately…but…I was on vacation, you see. Sorry about that. And Psycho gets back from her vacation soon as well. Apology for that.**

**-Marseillaise**

"So…_Edward_…what have I missed in Paris?"

I smiled sadly. "Not much, ma chèrie. Marius survived also, though, and is married to a girl named Cosette."

"Yes, I remember her. Just after the barricades, when I thought you were…dead...I met her briefly. She's nice," 'Chetta whispered into my shoulder.

I held her again, kissing the top of her head. "I've missed you so much, 'Chetta…"

She smiled up at me. "And I've missed you. I only wish Bossuet had survived as well, but…one of my angels is better than none."

I nodded. She led me into the flat, which was large and spacious. Holding my arm, she pulled me down next to her on a beige sofa. It was smooth, and very soft. She curled up, leaning her head onto my chest.

"François..."

We sat like that for about an hour, reveling in each other.

Suddenly, she stood up. "You need to learn English," she said.

I nodded. "Tomorrow."

"Yes. For now, let's eat dinner."

Dinner was roast pork, and a delicious kind of berry sauce.

Musichetta's sister, who was named Jeanne, was a very kind woman. She spent almost the entire dinner talking to me, though she assured Musichetta that she had no intentions of "stealing me away", to which 'Chetta laughed.

"Really, though," Jeanne said, "London is actually a lovely place, you know, full of lovely things, but it's not much better off than Paris in regards to the poor. My sister and I, we've been lucky enough to get jobs as seamstresses, and I have a bit of inheritance and all, but we're not exactly rich. And we're much better off than some people."

I nodded and ate another bite. "It's awful, really…and no one seeming to be able to change anything…"

Jeanne agreed.

It was so _frustrating_, not being able to change things. It was different in England, much different than France, but still…I sighed. Learn English and become a doctor by the name of Edward Beige. That was what was to become of me now.

XXX

"The entire structure is different than French, you see, but it's not that difficult."

I looked at her skeptically. "The entire structure is different, but it's not difficult? 'Chetta, that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever."

She sighed in mock frustration, but her smile gave her away. She coughed my face and kissed me quickly, and said, "there. Now is it coming to you?"

I smiled. "Not really. But I bet it would help if you kissed me again."

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, I haven't got a problem with that."

We laughed and rolled around like children, but needless to say, I didn't really learn a lot of English. Finally, she sobered up. "Alright. _My name is Musichetta._"

I repeated her.

"No, your name is not Musichetta."

I shrugged. "_My name is Joly._"

"Much better. Except your name isn't Joly anymore, either."

"_My name is Beige._"

"There. Finally. Alright, um…Verbs?"

Nodding, I replied, "it couldn't hurt…"

XXX

A week later, I was downstairs eating breakfast when Musichetta suddenly flung her arms around me. I looked up in surprise. Her face was a bit pale, and she said quietly, "François…I'm pregnant."


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello again everyone! I apologize for the lack of quick updates on all my stories. Thank you to all the lovely reviewers- you really make my day :) Here is the next bit, I really hope you enjoy! Admittedly, this one is mostly filler, but expect the plot to pick up soon!**

**-Marseillaise**

* * *

Cosette's pov

It had been almost a month since Joly had left. Marius was charming, and I think that sending one of his friends off to hopefully reunite with their mistress was immensely uplifting. I walked down the staircase into the foyer, where Marius was conversing with Papa. Smiling, I made my appearance.

"Cosette!" Marius cried, standing up. "You've never looked better."

I blushed, laughing lightly at his praise. I was wearing a light blue dress with a tight waist and a frilled top. The sleeves were lace, and stopped just above my elbows. It was new, a present from Marius' grandfather for no good reason. He really did spoil me, but he was such a gentleman and always handing out compliments. Since the barricades and his reunion with Marius, I believe he had changed his political views slightly, if only to appease my husband. For the anniversary of our engagement, he had given me such a large trunk of dresses that I don't think I shall ever run out.

"Thank you!" I said in response.

Papa smiled and gestured to the loveseat that Marius was currently occupying alone. "Come join us," he said, "we have just been discussing this letter."

Curious, I drew closer. It was written on semi-decent stationary, and said,

_Marius, Cosette, and M. Fauchelevent,_

_I cannot thank you enough for your support. I am doing fine in England, and have begun to set up a medical practice again. I live in a small flat with Musichetta in the avenue next to her sister's flat. We are happy, or as happy as can be. English is a difficult language, I must confess, but thankfully Musichetta has been tutoring me and I receive daily immersion, as almost no one here speaks French. A kind man named M. John Gautier, a previous French emigrant himself, has been helping me and is now my partner in the field of medicine. _

_Musichetta is lovely, I am indebted to you for reuniting us. In fact, she is pregnant, and we are engaged! I proposed to her as soon as I learned she was pregnant, and are delighted for the baby. We think if it is a boy he shall be called something French, and something English if she is a girl. Our wedding shall be next June, on the sixth. I debated this, as it is the anniversary of the barricades, but in the end we decided that, as a tribute, it would be okay. In fact, Marius, would you do us the honor of being our best man? I cannot think of a better person. It will not be a large wedding- perhaps fifty people at the most. Good luck and a wonderful time to you all; a more sincere invitation to the wedding shall come soon!_

_Sincerely, François Joly_

"Musichetta's pregnant!" I exclaimed. Marius nodded, beaming at me. I couldn't resist smiling affectionately back. I really was thrilled for them. The wedding would be bittersweet, but would fill the day with happy memories to replace bad ones. Moreover, Marius as best man! I could hardly wait.

"Do you think we must learn English?" I asked suddenly.

"I doubt it very much," Papa said, "although if necessary I can translate. Marius already knows English, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem for him, correct?" he said, directing the last bit to Marius.

"Yes. And both Joly and Musichetta speak both, so I wouldn't worry."

I looked at Marius, biting my lip with happiness. Our own wedding, while in reality it had been barely three months ago, felt like yesterday, and I doubted I would _ever_ be less in love with him.


End file.
